


a wild and an untamed thing

by hellsreluctantheir



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Multi, Polyamory, Queer Sam Winchester, Rocky Horror Show Performance, Stanford Era (Supernatural), Theatre
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-16 03:02:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29694072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsreluctantheir/pseuds/hellsreluctantheir
Summary: An extremely self-indulgent Rocky Horror Picture Show shadowcast fic.Not an ongoing story, but I may continue to add ficlets as I feel like it.
Relationships: Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Real Tyson Brady/Jessica Moore/Sam Winchester, Real Tyson Brady/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by some truly beautiful art [here](https://boyhowdyall.tumblr.com/post/643993951764938752/the-2004-stanford-student-production-of-the-rocky#notes) (op has requested minors not interact, please respect that and be cool).
> 
> Also, fuck canon, there is no demon possessing Brady here, this is for good times only.

It had been Jess' idea to go see the shadow cast in the first place - she and Brady had gone the year before, and this year Brady was a Transylvanian. Sam hadn't known a thing about it - they didn't even let him watch the movie separately beforehand, resolutely insisting his first experience should be _pure_.

Fucking assholes also had not warned him about the virgin ceremony.

Brady had winked at him smugly, unbuttoned his shirt and drawn a big red V on his chest, before smearing lipstick over his mouth as well, smacked him on the ass for good measure. He’d blushed so hard it felt like his whole body was the same shade, even once he was back in his seat, and Jess had curled in around his arm. Kissed him hard enough that they were wearing the same colour.

“It looks good on you,” she’d whispered in his ear, and he blushed even harder.

The next year half the cast had graduated, and Brady got pushy.

“I’m auditioning too, you big baby,” Jess said, draped over his lap on Brady’s shitty futon. “We’re all in this boat together.”

“Right, same boat,” Sam said. “You’re a wholesome, blonde supermodel. You’re gonna get Janet, and not even have to try. On the off chance I get the part, I’m going to look like bigfoot in stilettos.”

“Oh yeah,” Jess grinned, almost too wide to kiss him properly. “Sounds fucking sexy.”

"Agreed. Also, off chance?" Brady said, dropping onto the other end of the couch with popcorn. "You do realise I'm helping pick who gets the parts?"

"Yeah, you just want me on stage in my underwear for two hours," Sam said.

Brady leered at him, and swung his legs up to tuck his feet under Sam's thigh. Sam absently let a hand fall to grip his ankle. "Yeah."

Still.

Sam had assumed he was going to be Weirdly Tall Transylvanian.

Not fucking _Frank-N-Furter_.

And, sure, it probably looked pretty good to have him towering over everyone. Weird physicality just by virtue of moving just fucking looking different that far over six feet. But Sam spent most of his time desperately hoping people wouldn't notice how gangly he was, how careful he had to be while trying to look like he wasn't being careful at all. The hunch of his shoulders, carefully keeping track of his limbs. The one good thing spending so much time in a car as a kid had given him was an acute awareness of personal space.

The first time he flung his arms out wide in a rehearsal of Don’t Dream It, Be It he knew he wasn't going to hit anyone, but everybody still ducked. It took three more run throughs and some careful blocking to get him to do it again.

"Your wingspan," Brady said, "It's unexpected."

That was before the heels, though. Brady and Jess dragging him to a store, picking out a pair that looked sturdy, even despite how high they were. Empty, there was something vaguely ridiculous about heels that size. Sam was chewing his lips raw around a corner from where he could hear them talking, working himself up to putting them on.

“Brady, go help him," Jess wheedled.

Brady scoffed. “Why do I have to help him? You wear heels way more than me.”

“I want a reveal, go help him.”

There was a put upon sigh before Brady rounded the corner and gave him a long suffering look. "Ok, step one is taking your sneakers off."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, _Tyson_ ," Sam said, just because he know it'd get Brady to whack him upside the head. He still fucking did it. Then socks, then buckling the heels into place. They fit, at least, even if it felt fucking weird. Pushed himself to his feet, arms spread for balance. Gave Brady a look instead of walking around the corner.

"Shit, you're tall," Brady breathed.

"Really?" Sam gasped, pressing one hand to the centre of his chest in shock. "I never knew!"

"Oh, shut up," Brady said. "Let's show Jess."

Sam tried to take a step, he did, but when he put his foot down he wobbled precariously. Froze. Fixed Brady with a look of mute horror.

“Fucking- C’mon, Sam.” He moved beside him, hand on Sam's back. "This isn’t the gallows, you’re gonna walk like a baby deer but so does everyone in their first pair. Stand up straight. Don’t do that hunching thing you do. You look like hot shit because you are hot shit.” Sam ducked his head and Brady took the opportunity to plant a firm, smacking kiss on his cheek. “Get out there and give the lady a show.”

The hand on his back wasn't actually holding him up, but it did somehow give him the balance to take a step, then another, and then Brady was letting go to duck around the corner before him, arms outstretched.

"Presenting, the one, the only, Sam Winchester!"

Jess, legs curled up on the couch in the corner of the store, let out a cheer that turned into a wolf whistle as soon as Sam turned the corner. Trying, mostly failing, not to hunch. He was already too tall, and the heels had to be at least five inches.

"Hot!" Jess proclaimed, and Brady, moving over to perch on the arm of the couch next to her, said, "Seconded," and Sam flushed - grinned despite himself.

"Are you both going to act like this when we do the actual costume fitting too?" he asked, aiming for dry, fighting to get the grin under control.

"Yeah," Brady said, at the same time as Jess said, "Duh," matching devious grins on both their faces. Sam flushed darker.

That night at rehearsal they choreographed the shadow scene. Sam looked up from where his face was level with Brady's crotch to his face and got a lecherous wink. He pinched Brady's thigh, and got his hair ruffled. Looked up to see Jess watching with a warm look on her face.

And, yeah, there was something about watching Jess and Brady together too.

The costume fitting was worse than the heels. And, yeah, Sam knew. He'd seen the movie, he'd seen what the actor last year had worn, it was still a lot. Enough to send his heartbeat stuttering while he tried to talk himself into stepping out of the changing room. Tried to avoid his own eyes in the mirror. Tried to be objective, because he wanted this. He wanted to do it. But the guy who’d been strutting across the stage last year had been gorgeous, had spades of charisma, and the mirror was just showing him Sam but in a corset.

He was chewing on a fingernail, still trying to talk himself out of just putting his normal clothes back on when Jess' voice slid through the curtain. "Hey, Sam, can I come in?"

He forced himself to say, "Yeah," and tried to force a smile as she slipped inside with his heels dangling from one hand. "How do I look?"

She gave him a slow once over. "The costume? Looks phenomenal. You? Look terrified." He forced a laugh, and she stepped closer, wrapping her arms around his waist.

He pressed his forehead down against hers. "I know this is what I signed up for."

"You don't have to do it," she said. "You and Brady could swap. They could recast. If you don't want to do it, that's fine."

"I do, though," he said, soft and confessional. "I do, I just- I feel like an idiot."

She pecked him on the lips. "Babe. You're not an idiot. You're hot as shit. And I think you should put your heels on, front like a madman, and walk out of here with your head held high, because I want to see Brady's eyes pop out of his head like a cartoon."

Sam laughed, kissed her a little more thoroughly. Took the heels out of her hand and bent to put them on. The difference in height when he straightened up was still a little off-putting, but it made Jess smile. Suddenly she had to lean up right on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“You guys better not be fucking in there,” Brady said, loudly, from outside.

Jess snickered against his mouth. “Ready?” she asked.

Sam nodded. Stepped back. Rolled his shoulders, straightened his spine.

“Presenting,” Jess said, darting away, drawing the vowels right out, holding the curtains shut behind her. “Sam _fucking_ Winchester!”

Then she threw it open, and Sam stepped out. Brady’s gaze slipped from where he’d been sneering at Jess to Sam and his expression very quickly went neutral. Eyes slowly traced up and down Sam’s body - he resisted the urge to squirm. Was rewarded when, faintly, Brady’s cheeks started to burn.

“What do you think?” he asked, taking a step closer.

“Uh,” Brady said. Cleared his throat. Fixed a smile on his face, thought he didn’t manage to control the blush. “I think it’ll work.”

Sam took another step, so he was right in front of Brady. Watched his pupils dilate a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Brady said. A little breathless.

Jess snickered. It broke the tension - Sam relaxed, finally, felt something unwind in his stomach. Shoulders hunched a little, which made Brady poke him in the chest, between the laces of the costume.

“You’re not allowed to do that when you’re in character,” he said.

“Okay, okay,” Sam said. Reached out and reeled both of them into a hug.

Anyway, dress rehearsals were a _whole_ different thing.

Sam ended up lying flat on his back on the theatre floor on a break, arm curled around Jess on one side and Brady on the other, while they rested their heads on his shoulders and and had a conversation. Heels kicked off and stocking feet bumping into each other. Until someone called Brady away to check on something he was supposed to be running, and he gave both of them a kiss on the cheek before he got up, and wandered off.

They were having a drink in Sam and Jess’ apartment later when Sam finally broached a topic he’d been wondering about.

"The stockings," Sam said. Took a deep breath, continued. "They keep pulling at my leg hair. Can you teach me how to shave?"

“Fuck,” Brady said, “That’s what I’ve been meaning to do.”

“Ok,” Jess said. “But we need to go to the seven eleven because I’m almost out of razors, and you assholes are gonna need a couple each.”

And maybe eleven at night on a Sunday wasn’t the best time to do it. Maybe tipsy wasn’t the best thing to be at the time. Maybe all three of them didn’t need to cram into the bathroom in their underwear at the same time.

But maybe, maybe, they did.

They used up a whole can of shaving cream and all ended up soaking, crammed in the shitty bathtub, smooth legs splayed over each others. Jess was nuzzling into Sam’s neck, and her and Brady’s fingers were tangled over his stomach. He rubbed his fingertips through Brady’s damp hair, against his scalp, watched his eyes go half-lidded. Jess’ lips brushed over his pulse point. Brady’s face was so close to his that it only took a tiny change of angle and they were kissing. When they broke apart Jess had sat up to watch them, eyes hot and hungry.

Then she leaned in and kissed Brady too, and _oh_ , Sam understood.

“So,” Brady said, hoarse and breathless a moment later, “Is this an invitation to stay the night?”

“If you play your cards right,” Jess said, smiling, “Maybe you can stay several.”

Somehow, out of nowhere, it was opening night and Jess was straddling Sam’s lap while he sat with his eyes shut, feeling her make tiny brushstrokes over his eyelids. Easy to focus on. Helping him breath, stay calm. Better, when Brady came up behind him, leant his face into Sam’s hair and started rubbing his shoulders.

“We ready?” Brady mumbled into his head.

“We’re trying to be,” Sam said back.

Jess tapped him hard on the cheek. “Buck up, Sunshine. You’re gonna be great. Open.”

He opened his eyes and she peered at him, face intent.

“Okay, cool,” she said, putting down the eyeshadow brush and picking up the eyeliner. “Look at my earlobe. Brady, don’t move his head.”

“You got it,” Brady said.

Sat still, eyes half-lidded while Jess painted along his lash line, and then slid mascara over his lashes. Brady plastered up against his back. Sam felt warm, and floaty, the stage fright kept at bay at least for the meantime.

“Alright,” Jess said, then leaned forwards to kiss him briefly. “Lips. Then you’re done.”

The nerves spiked again as they waited for the show to start - standing with the noise of the people filing in, and the dull light from the projector. But watching Brady and Jess spill onto stage for Damnit Janet, it faded into the background as he just got to watch. By the time his entrance came up, it almost felt easy, shouting from the crowd and everything. They made it through the movie and he was exhilarated, beaming, a head taller than anyone else in the line at curtain call, grinning like an idiot at the cheer when he bowed.

Then the lights went up and people in the audience wanted pictures, and maybe he was back to just being sweaty with half his ass hanging out, but he could fake it well enough.

At the after party he was back in jeans and a t-shirt, but he was still wearing the shoes, and the make up, and the clip on earrings. He didn’t wobble in the heels anymore, and Brady was beaming at him from where he’d sprawled back onto a couch.

“It’s a good look on you,” he said, and maybe a few weeks ago Sam would’ve thought he was making fun but his voice was just warm, and genuine. “Brings out your dainty features.”

“Maybe I like being dainty,” Sam said, and in a flash Brady had tugged him onto the couch to kiss him, lazy and open mouthed. And Sam wasn’t even sure how he’d got horizontal so quick, but he was lying with just his torso on Brady’s lap, the rest of him half-on, half-off the couch. Brady’s arms around his shoulders and waist, like he was being cradled, like he held Jess in his lap sometimes, low enough that Brady was having to lean down to kiss him properly.

“I like you being dainty too,” Brady muttered against his mouth.

He was still too big, too awkward. But for a little while, warmth blooming in his stomach and tears pricking at his eyes, he didn’t feel like it.

Jess found them not longer after, shoved her way between Brady and the arm of the couch, tugged Sam so he was draped over both of them. Scraped her nails through his hair.

“Do you think we can get my ears pierced for real?” Sam asked.

“Fuck yeah,” Jess said.

Two weeks of performances went by in no time at all. Sam stained his pillowcases with the mascara he was too lazy to wash off, and he and Jess somehow still made it to all their classes, and Brady slept over more often then he didn’t. The final night came with a hint of regret and a current of madness, fuelled by shots before the show, and the manic energy coming off the final audience in waves.

They got off stage and Jess sprinted towards him, took a flying leap to get her legs around his waist and her lips fixed to his - Sam stumbled back and then overcorrected forward, and then Brady plastered himself up against her back, pinning her between them. Sam was laughing too hard to kiss back properly, but it wasn’t like their make-up wasn’t already smeared to shit by that stage, he just held onto both of them as tight as he could.

“Told you bigfoot in stilettos would be fucking sexy,” Jess said, breathless, when she broke away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can chat to me on [tumblr](http://hellsreluctantheir.tumblr.com).


	2. Graduation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is not turning into an on going story but I am also obsessed with this verse so I MAY keep writing ficlets and adding them, god bless, don't judge me.

It wasn’t like Dean had timed it out or anything.

This wasn’t that kind of movie. No long keeping track of days, no semi-stalking. He just maybe had looked up whenabouts Stanford’s commencement ceremony was going to be. And maybe the date had stuck in his head. And then there was a classic salt and burn in Gilroy, and that was so close, so. It wasn’t like it was out of his way, is all.

The figure that crossed the stage when the name Sam Winchester was called was far too tall, beaming like pure sunlight, and as he walked into the group of graduates was immediately mobbed by a pair of blondes.

They were still pinned to his sides when Dean found him in the crowd of families and students afterwards.

“-rents get to argue about who’s taking us to dinner tonight,” guy-blonde was saying as Dean approached, tugging at Sam’s gown like he was straightening it.

Girl-blonde, tucked under Sam’s arm in a way that made Dean think girlfriend for sure, said, “That or one of us calls dibs on Sam and the other one goes solo. Rock, paper, scissors?”

“I’m not supporting that.” It was the first thing Dean had heard his baby brother say in over four years, and the bottom of his stomach went somewhere six feet down.

So, yeah, Dean wasn’t even paying attention to which of the blondes was talking, let alone what they were saying, as he got closer. Close enough to see the moment Sam saw him. Watched the smile slide off his face in favour of blank shock. Watched his spine go poker-straight which, yeah, the kid had gotten way taller than Dean remembered him being and he hated it just a little bit. Whatever conversation that had been happening died out completely. Dean stopped a few feet away.

“Hey Sammy.”

“Dean,” Sam said, and both blondes got a little more tense. “What are you doing here?”

“You think I was gonna miss your graduation,” he said, with a lot more confidence than he was feeling, and his douchiest grin.

The douche part apparently came across, because guy-blond muttered, “Oh, fuck off,” before turning to Sam. “This is your brother?”

Girl-blonde said, “Brady,” in a vaguely warning tone, and guy-blond said, “Jess,” sugar-sweet.

Which, at least now Dean knew their names.

“Yeah,” Sam said, still with his eyes fixed. “This is my brother, Dean.”

“Cool,” Brady drawled, folding his arms and stepping forward so he was standing between them. “Nice of you to show when you never call.”

Sam said, “Brady,” in the same tone Jess had before.

And Dean knew, he was not actually an idiot so he absolutely knew, that picking a fight with Sam’s friends was the stupidest thing he could choose to do at that particular moment, but his hackles were already up. “You got something to say about it?”

By his face Brady definitely did, but Sam said his name again, this time with a hand on his arm to draw him back. “It’s ok, just- Give us a minute ok. Go talk to your parents.”

Brady scoffed, showed no sign of leaving, but he did hang back with Jess when Sam walked off a bit of a distance, gesturing Dean after him.

“Nice to know you have such a good guard dog,” Dean said.

Sam sighed, folding his arms. “Why are you here, Dean? Why now?”

“It’s your graduation,” Dean said. “I know I didn’t go to college, but I know that’s a big deal.”

Sam just stared, eyebrows slightly raised, and that? That was new. Four years ago Dean would’ve had the chops to wait Sam out, even if it was only just. Apparently normal life had mellowed Sam out a little. Or maybe Dean was just a little on edge.

“I don’t know, Sam,” he said. “I just… Thought I’d come see what you were planning to do next.”

There was a terrible understanding look that crossed Sam’s face. His whole posture changed. “That’s- that’s really it isn’t it?” He shook his head, disbelieving. “You came to see if I got this all out of my system and I’m ready to come hunting again.”

“Hey, no,” Dean said, looking over his shoulder and seeing Brady straighten and turn towards them. “No, that’s not why I came. I just want to know, ok?”

He could tell from the set of his jaw that Sam didn’t believe him, but he wasn’t going to fight him on it. It was good enough. “Law school,” he said. “Still here. I got a full ride.”

“That’s- I guess congratulations are in order?” Dean said. “Let me take you out for a drink. Your friends too, I kind of feel like they’ll follow us anyway.”

“Probably,” said Sam, turning to head back towards the pair of them.

As they walked back, Dean did get the chance to pick on something that had been sticking out to him. “So, what’s with the earrings, trying to look like a younger, gayer George Michael?”

And they must have been within earshot, because Brady’s expression flashed venemous, before he turned to greet Sam with the words, “Everything ok, babe?” and a peck on the lips.

And Sam accepted it. Braced a hand on Brady’s waist and stayed close. “Yeah, everything’s fine.”

So that. Was something. Dean cleared his throat, tried to move on. “We were gonna go get a drink and catch up,” he said. “If you two wanted to tag along.”

And yes, they did, both splitting off briefly to relocate their parents and confirm plans for later on, and then they were back. Apparently they took some time to make a plan as well, because when they made the decision to drag Dean to a bar within walking distance Sam and Brady pulled ahead and Jess walked with Dean.

“Big move, showing up on graduation day out of no where,” she said, aggressively cheerful.

“Sure,” Dean said, straining despite himself to hear the conversation Brady and Sam were having ahead of them.

Sam’s arm was slung around Brady’s shoulders, and Brady’s was around Sam’s waist, so they weren’t talking loud, but Dean thought he caught Brady saying, “-so sorry-“.

“You wanna talk about your decision making process there, hot shot?” Jess asked.

The phrase, “-not hiding either-“ drifted back in Sam’s voice.

“Not really,” Dean said. Maybe he should’ve been playing nicer.

“Cool,” Jess said, drawing out the vowel so the word could be a sentence. Then she turned so she was standing in front of Dean and stopped walking, meeting his eyes with an expression that made it clear that she was just as angry as Brady seemed to be. “I need you to know that he’s been doing fucking awesome without you. And if you’ve pulled your head out of your ass far enough to be his brother again, that’s great, but you better not hurt him again.”

And Dean should’ve brushed it off. Should have said, “Sure,” or “Or what?” or any number of ways he could dismiss an implicit threat from some college girl. Maybe he didn’t have as much control over himself as he thought he did, because what he said was, “He’s the one that left.”

“Sure,” Jess said, voice scathing. “That’s how that works.” Then she’d turned and jogged to catch up with the others, tucking herself under Sam’s free arm and leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. Dean followed. Kept his distance for a little while. Until they got to a bar and settled into a booth.

He’d kind of hoped to regain to equilibrium in the bar. Kind of hoped eighteen years together would trump whatever dynamic Sam had built up with these two in Dean’s absence, that it’d be easy. They were family, after all. Instead it just rubbed in that as far as Dean was concerned the last four years of Sam’s life were a blank slate. That he’d done much, much more than just gotten taller, and Dean was pretty sure he was the same person he’d been when Sam had walked out that door. It wasn’t that it was awkward, he’d always been able to front, and Sam at least made an effort to include him.

He managed to get them to the pool tables, and that made things little easier. Gave him something to focus on. The familiar feel of a cue in his hands, the crack when the balls impacted. And it gave him the smugness of winning - no need to play dumb because, as tempting as it was, if he tried to hustle Sam’s boyfriend he didn’t think Sam would appreciate it. But he was winning, at least until he noticed Jess leaning to kiss Brady in the corner of his vision and missed a really easy shot, and Sam took the opportunity to clean up the whole rest of the table.

None of them acted like anything at all was up, and eventually Dean had to take a cigarette break and Sam followed him out.

“How’s dad?” he asked. Tentative, like he wasn’t quite sure of his footing.

“Fine,” Dean said. “Think he’s chasing werewolves in Louisiana right now.” There was a pause. “This whole thing with- you and Brady, and Brady and Jess…” He trailed off.

There was a touch of a smirk on Sam’s face. “Yeah?”

“I don’t have any idea what’s going on in your life, do I?” Dean asked.

It got a him a real smile. “No, no you don’t,” Sam said. “Look, they- they’re not your biggest fans. But if you do want to know what’s going on in my life, I’d like you to.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, voice suddenly rough. “Yeah- I’d. That’d be cool.”

“I missed you, Dean,” Sam said, quieter.

A big chunk of Dean desperately wanted to tell him they didn’t need a chick-flick moment, but that chunk was a big part of why he hadn’t spoken to his baby brother in four years, so instead he forced himself past in the lump in his throat to say, “I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can chat to me on [tumblr](http://hellsreluctantheir.tumblr.com/).


End file.
